His Convenient Marchioness. Elizabeth Rolls

but while she thought she could manage a marriage of convenience, she wasn’t sure she would be entirely happy in a marriage where she would be expected to curb her enjoyment of the marriage bed. On the other hand, in a perverse way, she might feel less disloyal to Peter if she wasn’t looking forward to the marriage quite so much in quite that way.

      But she liked Hunt and looked forward to his visits, perhaps a little more than was wise. But now, sewing in the parlour while the children played upstairs, she wondered if he would raise the subject of marriage again this afternoon. When he had left the day before yesterday he had said that they should talk next time...they had talked, just not about marriage, so presumably that was what he wanted to talk about. As long as they could be friends, if Huntercombe preferred a marriage where the marriage bed was only for the procreation of heirs, then she would accept that.

      So the thrill that shot through Emma at the knock on the door was less than welcome as well as unexpected. It was barely two o’clock. Hunt was early and that embarrassing little leap of delight rubbed in the fact that she had been watching the clock for the past hour.

      ‘Be the door, mum.’ Bessie appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘You want me to get it?’

      Emma rose. ‘No, it’s all right, Bessie. It will be his lordship, so—’

      Harry and Georgie clattered downstairs. ‘Is it Lord Huntercombe, Mama? And Fergus?’ Georgie demanded.

      Emma smiled. ‘Why don’t I open the door and find out?’

      ‘It’s not raining,’ Harry said. ‘We’ll be able to walk Fergus again.’

      Emma thought ruefully that it would be his dog as much as himself that would render Hunt acceptable to her children as a stepfather.

      She opened the door and blinked at the liveried footman.

      He looked down his nose at her. ‘The residence of Lady Emma Lacy, if you please.’

      Emma took a proper look at the livery. It was only too familiar. ‘This is it.’

      The young man’s expression registered shock, then condescension. ‘Inform her ladyship that she has a visitor, my good woman.’

      Emma narrowed her eyes. The impudent puppy couldn’t be more than twenty. ‘Do you always take that tone with your elders?’ She used an imperious voice she never bothered with for Bessie.

      His jaw dropped.

      ‘Straighten your shoulders!’ She knew an unholy glee as he snapped to attention. ‘You may tell me yourself who is calling.’ She knew perfectly well, but saw no reason to let him off the hook.

      He looked winded. ‘Ah—’

      ‘Roger! Do they know the correct address, or not?’

      The querulous voice had not changed in the least. ‘Good day, Mother.’ Emma stepped around the goggling Roger and walked to the carriage. ‘Whatever brings you here?’

      Lady Dersingham stared in disbelief, first at Emma then the house. ‘I thought I must have the direction wrong. What a hovel!’

      Emma took a firm grip on her temper. ‘It’s lovely to see you, too, Mother. Won’t you come in?’

      Louisa Dersingham actually hesitated, then said in wilting tones, ‘The steps, Roger.’

      Emma moved aside as the footman opened the carriage door and lowered the steps. She gritted her teeth as her mother descended as though tottering to her doom. She fixed the footman with a steely glare. ‘Take her ladyship’s bricks to the kitchen and ask my servant to reheat them.’

      She knew her mother. Hell would freeze over before Louisa ventured out to Chelsea in November without hot bricks to her feet.

      ‘Really, Emma.’ Louisa’s voice quavered piteously. ‘If you must live out here, surely a nice villa by the river would be a more eligible situation. I believe they can be had quite reasonably.’

      ‘No doubt. Come in, Mother, and have a cup of tea to warm you.’

      Louisa shuddered. ‘Tea?’

      ‘Yes.’ Emma offered her arm to support Louisa across the pavement to the house.

      ‘And what, pray, is that dreadful noise?’ Louisa demanded as they reached the doorstep.

      For a moment Emma could not think what she meant. ‘Oh. That’s the stone yard behind us.’ She was so used to the banging that she scarcely heard it any more.

      ‘A stone yard?’ Louisa made it sound slightly less respectable than a brothel. ‘Well, Roger must step around to ask them to make less noise. Indeed, I am sure they can stop work completely for a little while.’

      Emma didn’t quite roll her eyes. ‘Mother, they have their livelihoods to earn.’

      Louisa stared. ‘What on earth has that to say to anything?’

      Emma reached for patience. ‘All that will happen is that Mr Adams, who is my landlord, will tell Roger to get out of the way.’ In fact, she thought the stonemason would probably tell Roger to go to hell. She ushered Louisa over the threshold. ‘Welcome, Mother.’

      The children had disappeared, but a stifled gasp from upstairs told her that at least one pair of small ears was flapping.

      Bessie appeared in the kitchen doorway. ‘Tea, mum?’ She cleared her throat. ‘I can see as how ye’ve got a special guest.’

      ‘Yes, Bessie.’ Emma knew exactly what the maidservant was asking; should she re-use the breakfast tea leaves, or use fresh? ‘A very special guest—my mother, Lady Dersingham.’

      ‘Oh, well, I’m sure I’m pleased ter meet yer ladyship.’ Bessie dropped a very respectful curtsy.

      Louisa looked pained. ‘Yes, yes, my good woman.’

      Quelling an insane desire to laugh, or just scream, Emma said, ‘A nice cup of tea will be most welcome, Bessie. And her ladyship’s footman needs to reheat the carriage bricks.’ Difficult to judge who was the most outraged—her mother or the footman. ‘Come into the parlour, Mother.’

      * * *

      Louisa gave a shuddering glance around the parlour. ‘Oh, dear. Emma, please see that Roger brings the tea in. Really! That woman! Of course creatures of that sort never know their place.’ She eyed the battered sofa to which Emma had conducted her with grave suspicion and sat as though she expected it to bite.

      Thinking that Hunt had not shown by as much as a blink that he had noticed her shabby parlour, nor been rude about Bessie, Emma spoke through gritted teeth. ‘Bessie gives complete satisfaction, Mother, and I certainly will not offend her in any way.’

      Louisa closed her eyes and spoke in failing accents. ‘My dear Emma, if I am obliged to set eyes upon that creature again—’

      ‘Then keep them closed.’

      Louisa’s eyes snapped open, all pretence of languor gone. ‘Really, Emma! Is that any way to speak to your mother?’

      ‘This is my house, Mother.’ Emma sat down. ‘What brings you here? You haven’t visited me since Peter died.’ Emma’s fingers curled to fists at the memory. ‘Nor have you acknowledged any of my letters, including the one that informed you we had moved.’

      Louisa dismissed that with an airy wave. ‘I am afraid I am but an indifferent correspondent. I am sure I did write. Perhaps my maid neglected to put a letter out for Dersingham to frank. And really, after the dreadful way you have behaved—!’

      The door opened to admit Bessie bearing a tray. ‘Here we are, mum. Lovely, fresh cuppa. Had the kettle nice an’ hot. Don’t take a minnit, then.’ Adorned in a clean apron, Bessie set the tray on the table. ‘An’ I put a little plate of biscuits besides.’

      ‘Thank you, Bessie.’

      Bessie